


Delighted Acquaintance

by Khaleesi_of_Lannisport



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Tarkin - James Luceno, Star Wars: Thrawn - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Cowgirl Position, F/M, Fondling, Groping, Mildly Dubious Consent, NSFW, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Kissing, Sex in a Car, Sky limo sex, Smut, Tarkin feels jealousy, Thrawn enjoys art and opera, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Sex, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 05:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15163442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khaleesi_of_Lannisport/pseuds/Khaleesi_of_Lannisport
Summary: A prequel to 'Small Comfort,' you're the wife of Grand Moff Tarkin whose come to Coruscant for the Ascension Week festivities. However, the lustful 'spark' between you two has since faded, and you want to capture it again. How will you ensnare the frigid Tarkin?





	Delighted Acquaintance

**Author's Note:**

> Tarkin x Reader smut ahead! I hope you all enjoy! Looking forward to the next Thrawn novel.

Delighted Acquaintance

 

“Darling, we’re going to be late to the Ascension Ball,” Wilhuff Tarkin called from the parlor. He’d returned Coruscant for a short visit, of course, as he said, you and your child together were a priority to see but also to make an appearance at the Ascension festivities. The Grand Moff was vital to see engaged in Imperial holidays. 

You sat in front of your vanity, making the finishing touches to your lashes and finally blotting your lips of the excessive lip stain you applied. Flawless as always, you reveal in your appearance. Who could believe you’re in your thirties with a baby at home?

“We can be fashionably late, dear!” you retort as you look to your wardrobe for the evening. 

It had been several months since you and Wilhuff have had any alone time together, and during this visit you haven’t had much of a chance to catch up. Indeed, Wilhuff hasn’t touched you once since arriving. The master bedroom felt cold where it was once filled with passion. You yearn to feel his touch again, to whisper softly in your ear explicit desires. 

Your mother’s words about the spark fading start to replay in your mind. Has Wilhuff begun to lose his affections for you? Has he taken a mistress? You shutter at the thought.

Her final advice from the Holovid rang over and over: _‘If you want not to be treated as his wife, don’t dress like one!’_

The walk-in wardrobe is full to the brim in elegant gown all tailored for you only. Some were gifts from would-be suitors, others were from former paramours gone cold or shipped to the edge of the galaxy. Your eyes catch the one that will spark Wilhuff’s lust as well as the eyes of the other officers and Moffs in attendance. 

The bedroom door opens, and you hear Wilhuff’s hard footsteps enter, he stops short of the wardrobe, “Darling, are you decent? I’d rather not miss Colonel Yularen’s speech. It is imperative we are there.”

You finish dressing and with haste throw on a fur coat to hide your chosen gown, quickly grabbing your shoes as well as your emerald necklace and matching earrings. 

“Enter!” you call, and Wilhuff obliges. His eyes quickly scan your body, nothing short of tactical observation. 

“N/A, please the sky limo is already here to take us.” He opens the doorway for you, extending his arm to show you out. Wordless, you leave together.

******

Ascension Week was nothing short of festival full of propaganda. Military parades and Holovids encouraging men and women to join in support of their Emperor. You almost forgotten what life was like before the Empire. Your eyes scan the horizon of skyscrapers, the purple sunset fading in back, and your mind racing to how Wilhuff will react when he sees your gown. Everything was different after the birth of your son. His adoration fell and you felt like a broodmare rather than a partner. Before there was banter but now it was small talk about how well your son was doing. You glance over and see Wilhuff reviewing his datapad, unaware of your own presence in the sky-limo. 

You arrive some forty-five minutes after the ball had already begun at the Alisandre Hotel. Wilhuff locks arms with you as you check-in your coat to the valet. As you slide it off Wilhuff’s eyes widen at the reveal: a sheer floor-length, backless, golden gown, encrusted diamonds barely cover your cleavage. A subtle grin appears on his face, quickly fading as the valet hands him the ticket to collect the coat.

“So? Is it this too much?” you ask in a hushed voice. Wilhuff’s blue eyes pierce into your heart as his face hardens, “We must enter, quickly.” 

Disappointment seeps in but you hurry to remove any sign of it from your face. Wilhuff again takes your arm locked with his and enters the ballroom, almost triumphantly with you, his prized wife. 

Whispers and low voices ring in your ears after you pass by a small group of imperial senators, “Who knew Moff Tarkin had a strumpet for a wife.”

“Ohoho! He doesn’t deserve a woman like that,” the other retorted.

You feel like responding but his grip on you is tight, cutting short any attempt to, as Moff Ghadi makes the first approach.

“A pleasure to see you Grand Moff Tarkin, and may I assume this is your wife?”

“Indeed, it is Ghadi,” he releases you from his security and you extend the hand to meet the Moff’s. “Wonderful to finally meet you, sir. I’ve heard so much from husband.”

“Only the good, I pray,” he replies in a standard joking sense. 

_‘Actual, we both find you be a feckless governor,’_ you think to say aloud but refrain.

The two men begin their harsh political discussions, nothing that grabs your interest. Your eyes wander to find a familiar face and in finding none you leave your husband’s side to look for something to eat. Waiters approach with trays offering small appetizers but nothing to your liking. You snatch a glass of wine, listening to voices continue to gossip about you. 

“I can’t pull off a dress like that!”

“It must’ve cost at least five thousand credits.”

 _‘Far more than what your measly imperial salary could afford,’_ taking another sip of wine.

Smugness isn’t your greatest character trait, but you can’t help but feel like that way. 

You continue to wander aimlessly before finding a piece of art before you. The piece shows a woman overwhelmed by waves of water crashing before her as she stands on the beach. Your eyes squint to capture the name of the artist but to no avail.

“Brilliant work is it not?” a voice breaks your train of thought. You turn to your side to see an alien in a lieutenant’s uniform.

“Indeed, it is. I was trying to figure out who the artist is,” you reply.

Another officer sporting an ensign uniform approaches with an amused look on his face, “Already found some art to appreciate, sir?” 

The alien gestures to you, “Apologies, madam this is Ensign Eli Vanto and I am Lieutenant Thrawn.” 

“Senior Lieutenant now, sir,” Vanto corrects clearing his throat. Thrawn nods in response to the correction, keeping his hands clasped behind his back.

“I’m delighted to be acquainted with you both. I am N/A, wife to Moff Wilhuff Tarkin.” 

Thrawn’s face subtly changes to realization, “Madam, are you not also the lead soprano for the opera theatre here on Coruscant?”

You feel your face becoming flushed at being recognized, “Yes, although I am since on maternity leave. I just had my son this year.”

“Congratulations,” both men say in almost unison. 

“Thank you. But I’m unsure if I’ll return to the stage anytime soon,” you can almost feel your heartbreak at the thought of never singing again. Wilhuff certainly enjoyed seeing you in the spotlight but you had a baby at home that needs a mother’s love and attention lest he become like his father.

“Madam, I hope that is not the case. I have found your work to be astounding and I often find myself playing your recordings when alone in my quarters.”

Ensign Vanto smiles, “Its true. I come to discuss battleplans or mission statuses and your voice is booming from the hallways.”

Thrawn continues, “I discovered you while at the Imperial Academy here. Your voice gave great comfort.”

You smile at the compliment, “I shall take note that I am still appreciated at last by one officer. May I ask where you’re from? Are you Pantoran?” 

Thrawn shakes his head before answering, “No, madam, I am Chiss.”

Your eyebrows furrow, “I apologize I’m not too familiar with that race in particular.”

“They’re in the Unknown Regions, ma’am,” the ensign quickly answers. 

A flush comes across your face as you realize your blunder, “Ah. My mistake to think you are Pantoran. Forgive me.”

“A common mistake, please no need to apologize,” Thrawn replies, gesturing his hand that no offense was taken.

Suddenly a hand wraps around your waist and you turn to find your husband at your side.

Ensign Vanto immediately realizes who stands besides you and salutes him, “Grand Moff Tarkin, sir.” Thrawn follows suit.

“At ease, gentlemen, after all this is an informal affair. Keeping my wife entertained, it seems.” His grip around you tightens.  
“Undeniably, sir, your wife is talent that should not be wasted,” Lieutenant Thrawn retorts.

Wilhuff offers a tight smile in return, “That we can agree upon.” He turns to you, “Darling, we are needed by Colonel Yularen.”

“Wonderful to have met you both,” you answer as Wilhuff hurries you away.

“Delighted, madam,” Thrawn bows deeply. His red eyes stir something inside you. ‘Thrawn,’ is a name you’ll not forget.

******

The night comes to an end as you ride silently in the sky-limo with your husband. You can feel Wilhuff’s gaze upon you, burning into your flesh, whether in anger or jealousy, or both you cannot tell.

“Do you realize you were the subject of discussion during the course of tonight’s events? Do you hear me, N/A?” he spits out. 

Your eyes stay down, too afraid to meet his, “I was unaware. I wanted to look nice, for you.”

“Nice? Is that what you call your gown? Do you know what the other officers were saying? Moff Tarkin’s wife dresses like a harlot. Moff Tarkin has no control over his own wife, how can he possibly put an end to rebel sabotage!” 

You don’t answer, trying your best to keep your composure. Wilhuff’s hand reaches and firmly grasps your hair on the back of your head, taking you by surprise you cry out.

“Tell me, do you enjoy humiliating me?” he asks between his clenched teeth. 

Tears well in your eyes, “No, Wilhuff. I don’t.”

His grip is tighter still as he pulls you close to his face. You stare into his eyes, afraid of his next move. 

“You’re mine, N/A. Mine alone,” he says in a softer tone.

Wilhuff’s eyes scan your face, his features are still tight and hard. He then crashes his lips onto yours. Your tongues dance briefly, reminding you of that first kiss outside the theatre many years ago.

He lets go of your hair as he pulls you atop him. The glass between the driver and the back is tinted, making this scene private. He releases you from the kiss. Wilhuff nudges down your coat, revealing your scandalous gown to him, as your chest heaves from fear and excitement. Finally, he wants you.

You take Wilhuff’s hands to your breasts, making him squeeze them. You moan softly as he continues to fondle them, pulling you to meet his face. Wilhuff’s eyes are wild with desire. He pulls down the top of your dress, exposing you to him. Wilhuff takes one nipple into his mouth, savoring you, suckling and biting gently. You continue to moan and grind against him, feeling his bulge beneath his uniform pants. You pull back his face from your breasts and kiss him deeply before reaching to his engorged crotch. 

Wilhuff watches you with intent as you undo the top of his pants and reach to find his hardness ready for you. You stroke it gently, eyes locked on him as he begins to groan gently.  
Still stroking him, you say, “I’ve missed this, Wilhuff. So much.”

“I’ve missed you, N/A.” His eyes close as you increase your strokes. This was the power you once held over him, making him come at your will. You can feel him about to reach his climax before stopping short of it.

His eyes snap open.

“Why did you stop, dear? I want you,” he asks, his voice is soft and breathy. You shimmy your undergarments off, knowing your body is wet and ready and lower yourself onto his cock. You both exhale a longing sigh, feeling each other for what felt like an eternity ago.

Wilhuff’s hands hold your waist as you begin to ride him, griping the seat head for support. His eyes watch your body as you fuck. Your hips were wider and curvier after the birth, and you felt insecure about the scars from the C-section. But in this moment, none of that mattered. Wilhuff’s hands wandered from your waist to ass, gripping your cheeks tightly.  
He spanks one cheek, eyes still locked on yours before spanking the other. 

“Harder!” you cry out and he obliges your wish. Spank! Spank! Your cheeks will definitely be bruised tomorrow.

Soon your bucks and writhing become harder as you can feel yourself getting closer to finishing. A warm wave floods your senses as your writhing becomes weaker, reaching your climax and you collapse into his embrace. Still inside you, Wilhuff holds close as he brings the both of you to the floor of the limo.

He holds your legs on his shoulders as begins fuck you furiously, causing you scream. Your hands cover your mouth to prevent the driver from stopping. Wilhuff’s perfect hair is now stringy and falls over his eyes as continues to pound your sensitive cunt. Sweat beads over his brows as he releases a grunt and finishes inside you. 

Your arms pull him on top of you, laying his head on your chest. Both catching your breath, you lay there momentarily silent. 

The sky-limo abruptly stops and Wilhuff quickly reaches for the lock. 

“Sir? We’re arrived,” the driver says from outside the door.

“Thank you. Give us a moment,” he calls back, as you try to stifle a laugh. “What a mess we made, darling,” a small smile appears as he lifts you from the floor.  
You push back his hair into place, running a hand down his face, observing his flushed cheeks. “Should I not wear this gown again?”

Wilhuff Tarkin takes a moment and eyes you as you begin to dress. 

“Only for me,” he answers. “No one else.” 

Finally, the spark returned.

END

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY EMPIRE DAY I mean, 4th of July!


End file.
